ANd something ELSE Mom should think about while she is lollygagging among the lower orders:

Zitterbewegung (English: "trembling motion", from German) is a theoretical rapid motion of elementary particles, in particular electrons, that obey the Dirac equation. The existence of such motion was first proposed by Erwin Schrödinger in 1930 as a result of his analysis of the wave packet solutions of the Dirac equation for relativistic electrons in free space, in which an interference between positive and negative energy states produces what appears to be a fluctuation (at the speed of light) of the position of an electron around the median, with a circular frequency of , or approximately 1.6×1021 Hz.

LET us go then, you and I, When the evening is spread out against the sky Like a patient etherized upon a table; Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets, The muttering retreats Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells: Streets that follow like a tedious argument Of insidious intent To lead you to an overwhelming question?. Oh, do not ask, "What is it?" Let us go and make our visit.

The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening, Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains, Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys, Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap, And seeing that it was a soft October night, Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.

And indeed there will be time For the yellow smoke that slides along the street, Rubbing its back upon the window panes; 25 There will be time, there will be time To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet; There will be time to murder and create, And time for all the works and days of hands That lift and drop a question on your plate; 30 Time for you and time for me, And time yet for a hundred indecisions, And for a hundred visions and revisions, Before the taking of a toast and tea.

In the room the women come and go 35 Talking of Michelangelo.

And indeed there will be time To wonder, "Do I dare?" and, "Do I dare?" Time to turn back and descend the stair, With a bald spot in the middle of my hair? 40 (They will say: "How his hair is growing thin!") My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin, My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin? (They will say: "But how his arms and legs are thin!") Do I dare 45 Disturb the universe? In a minute there is time For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.

For I have known them all already, known them all: Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons, 50 I have measured out my life with coffee spoons; I know the voices dying with a dying fall Beneath the music from a farther room. So how should I presume?

And I have known the eyes already, known them all? 55 The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase, And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin, When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall, Then how should I begin To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways? 60 And how should I presume?

And I have known the arms already, known them all? Arms that are braceleted and white and bare (But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!) Is it perfume from a dress 65 That makes me so digress? Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl. And should I then presume? And how should I begin? . . . . . . . . Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets 70 And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows??

I should have been a pair of ragged claws Scuttling across the floors of silent seas. . . . . . . . . And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully! 75 Smoothed by long fingers, Asleep ? tired ? or it malingers, Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me. Should I, after tea and cakes and ices, Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis? 80 But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed, Though I have seen my head (grown slightly bald) brought in upon a platter, I am no prophet?and here's no great matter; I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker, And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker, 85 And in short, I was afraid.

And would it have been worth it, after all, After the cups, the marmalade, the tea, Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me, Would it have been worth while, 90 To have bitten off the matter with a smile, To have squeezed the universe into a ball To roll it toward some overwhelming question, To say: "I am Lazarus, come from the dead, Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all"? 95 If one, settling a pillow by her head, Should say: "That is not what I meant at all; That is not it, at all."

And would it have been worth it, after all, Would it have been worth while, 100 After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets, After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor? And this, and so much more?? It is impossible to say just what I mean! But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen: 105 Would it have been worth while If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl, And turning toward the window, should say: "That is not it at all, That is not what I meant, at all." . . . . . . . . 110 No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be; Am an attendant lord, one that will do To swell a progress, start a scene or two, Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool, Deferential, glad to be of use, 115 Politic, cautious, and meticulous; Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse; At times, indeed, almost ridiculous? Almost, at times, the Fool.

I grow old ? I grow old ? 120 I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach? I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach. I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.

I do not think that they will sing to me. 125

I have seen them riding seaward on the waves Combing the white hair of the waves blown back When the wind blows the water white and black.

We have lingered in the chambers of the sea By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown 130 Till human voices wake us, and we drown.

[S]o long as other classes continue to exist, the capitalist class in particular, the proletariat fights it (for with the coming of the proletariat to power, its enemies will not yet have disappeared, the old organization of society will not yet have disappeared), it must still use a measure of force, hence governmental measures; if it itself still remains a class and the economic conditions on which the class struggle and the existence of classes have not yet disappeared, they must be forcibly removed or transformed, and the process of their transformation must be forcibly accelerated. --Karl "Big Daddy" Marx, After The Revoltuion

He's quite well educated in the arts of politeness and decency. In fact, there is no one primmer and he only announces prim numbers. 9 would certainly NEVER introduce anyone to any number that was rowdy and impolite!

You're offended that 999 is prim and proper? That he can pour tea without hitting his crotch with the stream? That he actually can tell the difference between beer and Budweiser by taste? That he knows which is a fork and which is a spoon?

The dude wasn't raised in Kent County, you know. He had a real high-class upbringing, with hot and cold running maids and everything.

Have a great holiday, those of you who celebrate it. MOM was up kind of late doing some baking and sipping wine and I fear now she will miss much of the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade by sleeping it off.

Greetings to my food subjects! You will obey or you will be slaughtered in a decidedly nasty manner instead of by my usual humane methods. You will immediately do reverence to me while you await your turn to nourish me. For this you will be thankful.

Sage quietly reaches behind her and unlatches the door to the duck-dog's cozy kennel and lets the pooch dash into the room. She humps the leg of the galactic overlord and in the process reflects back gamma rays he intended to use to turn the room into a giant microwave oven. He is dead before he hits the ground.

That Galactic Overlord is a hasbeen chump. I drank him under the table last year over at Vinnie's Bar & Steak House. He woke up an hour later, staggered out to find me, and got rolled by 2 baboons in the alleyway. Then the cops arrested him for vagrancy and threw him in the drunk tank for the night. He ain't been back to Chicago since.

I think the word "she" in Stilly's post needs to be changed to "the dog" in order to clarify the subject of the verbal phrase "humps the Galactic Overlord's leg." Sometimes less ambiguity is better

Chongo's puppet master believes himself inordinately clever to call me latté boy, as thoug that were some kind of insult, instead of a sign of sophistication and worldly ways. This imaginary character is teejus, sometimes, and should probably be sent back to the mental jungle from which it was allegedly born.e

That's one lucky chump. The dockmaster or whatever he's called in East Chi just got the cuffs because he was doin' racketeering and sellin' dope and so I lost my contact to provide Chumpo with a nice, healthy swimmin' lesson and magic trick: gettin' out of the chains and away from the anchor and then swimmin' back to Chi before it was too late.

Now Amos, you know that Chonga is simply an example of a time-independent application of the Schrödinger equation for a single non-relativistic particle in a multiphase, multidimensional universe. So for that matter is everything else, for I will it to be so.

I see that Amos is objectin' to my remarks in his usual fashion, by assertin' that I don't even exist. He has LH's thinkin' confused with mine. He don't get it that me and LH do not think alike about a lotta stuff and we ain't in charge of each other's thinkin' at all.

What a sad case he is! He oughta get professional help. The trouble with these latte'-drinkin' types is, they are too proud to ask for help when they so clearly need it.

What I wanta know is this: if silly rich women in Calfornia can afford to get poodle shrinks to analyze their lapdogs!...then why can't Amos afford to get a human shrink to straighten him out?

Chonga -- see my earlier statement regarding your existence (and that of everyone and everything else, for that matter). You, Chonga, like Hell, are an idea first born on an undigested apple-dumpling; and since then perpetuated through the hereditary dyspepsias nurtured by Ramadans (to paraphrase my creation Herman Melville).

"She" and "hump" are okay together - you've never lived with female dogs, apparently - that is a dominant behavior, one I've seen the girls do to each other on numerous occasions. The most recent one is a male and he does it also but I think he's a few brain cells short of calculating what it's all about - he just likes to do it, usually to the pit bull. The other one tells him where to go if he tries it. All are neutered, so it is all for dominance out in the yard.

The Galactic Overlord is just as kaput, regardless of the gender of the duckdog.

Rap, lemme put it in real simple words for ya. Amos needs help. You may be beyond help.

Yer bizarre grandiosity might be understandable if you was someone like Jesus Christ or King Kong, but you ain't. Yer just a damn librarian in a 3rd rate city that sits like a small wart on the backside of America. Yeah, sure, you got a big gun collection and you know all about how to blow things up and use artillery and stuff like that, and you can kill a man in half a second with yer commando moves, but that don't equate to runnin' the Universe, buddy.

Lemme put it this way. You got a few talents. Talents that will get you a drink and a measure of respect in places like Duffy's Bar or Albert's Gym. You ain't completely useless. But get this loud and clear: You are NOT God. Okay? Yer omnipotence is a myth. You did not create me, Amos, LH, Herman Melville or anyone else, and this world don't exist the way it is cos you decided to "make it so".

Now, go stick yer head in a bucket of ice water, fer Chrissake, and sober up and face reality, Roscoe.

Of COURSE I'm not God! God is my creation, just as you are. Just as LH and Veronica Paisley or whatever her name is and The Galactic Overlord and Amos and and gnu all the rest of the Mudcatters. Get this through YOUR head, dufuss: I don't demand that anyone adore me, but in your case I'm gettin' close. Don't go outside when it's cloudy, 'cause I might send a thunderbolt atcha.

You got nerve, I'll say that. So now you are claimin' that you made God too? That's moxie!

I gotta say that when it comes to boastin' and braggin', buddy, you are the world champ. You have gotta come to Duffy's Bar one of these days and attend a boast-off championship here on Sunday afternoon. The guy that boasts largest and with the most nerve wins. My bet would be on you. I can boast LARGE...and I have...but there is NO ONE who can match you, mister. Nooooo-body! Wowee. Too bad you wasn't born a Chimpanzee, that's all I can say. You would be a legend by now.

Keep it up, Chonga, and you will soon be the first of my creations that I insist fall down and adore me. I'm awfully slow to anger but my wrath is almighty and always just. Perhaps I'll just have you beg, plead, and whine for mercy while crawling on your belly up Michigan Avenue. At the moment, just beware of thunderbolts from a clear blue sky -- even indoors.

The house is full of grit after some work on a piece of furniture. I'll have to give everything in the living room a once-over with a dust cloth when I finish working on modifying a dresser. MOM, don't slip in the sawdust.

Rap, some drunk guy at one of the sleazier bars in Orillia fell down and started adoring you today. I have no idea why. He got kicked out of the bar, but continued singing your praises all up and down West St, until eventually the cops were called and he was taken away to a medical facility where they are trying to determine what happened.

This was a human guy. It wasn't Chongo.

Do you have any explanation? Could you perhaps have aimed a bolt of some kind at Chicago, but not calibrated it properly?

If so, damn good thing that it wasn't Shane you hit. He'd never live it down. But he lives way north of here anyway.